


Sweep The Leg

by SunSpell80



Series: TWD [4]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Because fuck this show for introducing attempted sexual assault of a minor as a plot point, Carl has PTSD, Daryl is able to help a little, Daryl teaches Carl how to fight, Gen, Panic Attack, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con, and then pretending it never happened, because obviously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2018-10-18 02:15:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10607214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunSpell80/pseuds/SunSpell80
Summary: Daryl and Carl Oneshots.





	1. Sweep The Leg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Look, most everyone else learned how to fight after the Turn. And even my dad didn’t really learn until the academy.”
> 
> “So?”
> 
> “So, none of them knew how to fight when they were my age and size. They wouldn’t know how to teach me properly.” 
> 
> So that’s how he found himself behind the church squaring off against a thirteen-year-old, like a sage instructor in a shitty kung-fu movie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that Daryl is only at the church for like a day before he and Carol go off, but the continuity in the walking dead is fucked anyway, so let's just pretend they stay at the church for a week or so before the Termites track them down.  
> I mean seriously, we saw that they were like right next to the prison at the end of season 2, and it took them NINE MONTHS to get there somehow. So I think it's fair to take a few liberties with the show's timeline.  
> Also, I have no idea how to defend myself, so this is based off some research I did. 
> 
> Warnings: there's no depictions of the attempted assault from 4x16, but there is a discussion of Carl's feelings about the incident (because fuck you, show), and a vague mention of pedophilia. Could be triggering for some people, so stay safe.

“Hey Daryl, you busy?”

Daryl looked up from cleaning his arrows to see Carl standing nearby with that damn look he used to always sport when he would come bother Daryl back at the farm, asking if he could ride Daryl’s motorcycle or shoot his crossbow. 

“Depends. What do you want?”

Carl moved closer, shoving his hands in his pockets, trying too hard to be casual. “Can you teach me to fight?”

Daryl raised his eyebrows. “Thought you could already do that.” He nodded at the knife and gun that were permanent fixtures to the pre-teen’s leg.

“No, like hand-to-hand stuff. For when I don’t have a weapon.”

“Ask your dad.”

“He’ll go too easy on me.” 

“Michonne, then.” It’s not that Daryl _was_ particularly busy at the moment, he just didn’t feel like expending valuable energy. Plus if he fucked up and accidentally hurt Carl, Rick would probably kill him. 

Carl huffed. “She doesn’t - look, most everyone else learned how to fight after the Turn. And even my dad didn’t really learn until the academy.”

“So?”

“ _So_ , none of them knew how to fight when they were my age and size. They wouldn’t know how to teach me properly.” 

“And you think I did?”

Carl shuffled awkwardly. “Yeah?”

Daryl scowled. So Carl was asking him because he knew Daryl had a shitty childhood and had to learn to defend himself at a young age. He supposed he could forgive the kid, though, since Carl was _having_ a pretty shitty childhood himself.

So that’s how he found himself behind the church squaring off against a thirteen-year-old, like a sage instructor in a shitty kung-fu movie. _Sweep the leg_ , he thought sardonically.

“You keep dropping your hands,” Daryl admonished Carl. “You need to have them up and ready to defend yourself at all times.” He barely gave Carl enough time to listen to him before he launched himself at him. Carl swung his his fist at him and Daryl let it land on his chest even though he could’ve easily avoided it, mostly just to prove a point. “I’ve got a hundred pounds on you, so why are you going for my chest? Go for the nose if you can reach it, or failing that the groin. Remember: eyes, nose, neck, groin, legs, and knees.”

Carl nodded, wiping the sweat off his forehead. “Eyes, nose, neck, groin, legs, and knees,” he muttered to himself. His eyes flicked down.

“Watch your eyes,” Daryl rebuked, following his gaze. “Don’t let ‘em know where you’re going to strike. And don’t _actually_ punch me in the groin, just mime it,” He added as an afterthought, realizing that piece of advice could backfire on him very easily.

He charged at Carl again. Carl lunged, this time pushing the heel of his hand into Daryl’s face, before kneeing Daryl in the leg. 

“Better,” Daryl grunted. “You missed the kneecap though, if you’d gotten it I would’ve been down. It usually takes more than one kick to get ‘em down, so don’t stop until-” He was cut off as Carl kneed him again, this time in the kneecap. “Hey!” He growled, bending over slightly from pain, hands going to his knee. 

Carl gave him an innocent look. “You said don’t stop.”

Daryl flipped him off. “Alright, you cheeky shit. C’mon, let me show you how to get out of a hold. Let’s start with a chokehold, okay?”

“K.” Carl brushed off his pants and watched him expectantly. Daryl had a feeling that this was what he’d been waiting for, which didn’t really surprise him.

“So the first thing you gotta do before anything else is protect your neck,” Daryl explained, bringing up right elbow to his own neck to simulate a hold. “Bury your chin as deep as you can, so that your chin is between their arm and your neck. Bring your arms up and press them to the elbow. Kick off with your foot and spin toward the arm that’s holding you. Keep your body weight low. That should break the hold. Probably a good idea to kick ‘em in the groin so they can’t take off after you right away, give you a head start. Got it?”

“Yeah, think so.”

“Good.” Daryl hesitated. “Wanna practice?”

Carl nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

“No groin-kicking though,” Daryl warned him. “I’ll kick back.”

Carl laughed, but it was slightly higher than normal and Daryl could tell he was nervous. He stepped behind him and wrapped his right arm around Carl’s neck. It was a lot looser than it would’ve been in a normal situation, but he figured this would be good to start. 

He felt Carl’s heartbeat quicken. Not for the first time, he wondered if this was a bad idea. “Okay, now break out.” Daryl told him firmly. 

After a few moments hesitation, Carl spun like Daryl had instructed him, breaking out.

“You forgot to tuck in your chin.” Daryl reminded him. “If my grip on you wasn’t so loose, you would’ve strangled yourself. Again.” This time he tightened up the grip slightly. Carl dipped his chin down so it was digging into Daryl’s arm. “More. Get it between my arm and your neck.”

Carl followed through on the moves. His push-off was weak though and he only got out because Daryl let him. “You gotta push-off harder than that. Again.” This time, Daryl didn’t let him out and pulled him back closer. Carl’s fingernails dug into his elbow. “It’s not gonna be easy in real life. C’mon, you’ve got this.”

The push-off this time was _far_ more forceful. “Good-” Daryl started, before being cut off by a harsh knee to the groin. “Shit!” He groaned, doubling over. “Jesus, kid, I said no groin-kicking!” He yelped angrily, glancing up to see that Carl was all the way over on the other side of the clearing. He looked like he was about to throw-up, but he wasn’t heaving, just pressing his hands to either side of his head, white-faced and panting.

Well, _shit_.

He approached the kid cautiously, like one might approach a feral dog. Daryl had the suspicion that touching Carl right now might be a bad idea, so he just sat down on a nearby log and waited for Carl to calm down. 

Eventually Carl’s breathing slowed and he came down from his panic attack on his own. He stood back up, refusing to meet Daryl’s eyes. “Let’s go again,” he muttered.

“Probably not the best idea.” Daryl countered calmly. “Why don’t we call it a day?”

“I’m fine, Daryl, let’s go again. I need to - I need to know this stuff. Please.”

“We’ve been going at it for awhile, it’s not a good idea to wear ourselves out. We need to be at our strongest case of an attack.” Daryl sighed, picking at the bark on the log. “Look, I get it okay? I agree, learnin’ this stuff is a good idea, but it’s not gonna happen all at once.”

“You’re not tired,” Carl argued, looking annoyed. “You’re barely even sweating. You just wanna stop because you think I’m weak.”

“Ain’t never thought that.” Daryl refuted. Okay, fine, maybe at the beginning of all this he remembered thinking that Rick’s boy was probably going to end up Walker-bait because he wasn’t tough enough to handle all this, but that was at the beginning. That was nearly two years ago, and Carl was not that same kid. “You’re one of the toughest sonuvabitches I know. But you need to know your limits.” He paused. “What ya went through -”

“This has nothing to do with that.” It was a bad lie, and they both knew it.

“I just think it might be a little soon to be puttin’ yourself in situations that you remind you of it.” Daryl said carefully. So much had happened since then it seemed like forever ago, but…christ, it had been less than a week. 

“It wasn’t, that didn’t - ” Carl pressed a hand to his mouth, looking sick. He sat down on the log next to Daryl and though his face was turned away, Daryl could hear the sniffling sounds. 

Fuck. He wasn’t equipped to handle this. Daryl really wanted to just bolt into the church and grab Rick or maybe even Michonne, get them to deal with this. But there was a reason Carl had come to him, and he knew it wasn’t just because of his fighting prowess. How much Carl knew about Daryl’s past was uncertain (this group was so damn gossipy, he wouldn’t be surprised if Carl knew pretty much everything there was to know), but it had been enough that he had felt at least somewhat comfortable exposing his vulnerability. 

So Daryl tried to think back on what it was like. His old man had never hurt him the way Carl had been hurt (be thankful for the small blessings, he supposed), but he could remember being thirteen and being overpowered, being too small to defend himself the way he could now. He’d felt like he needed to push back harder, keep it all in, prove his was tough to everyone around him. Like if he admitted that it made him feel weak and afraid, that would make it worse.

Daryl hesitantly reached out a hand and placed it on Carl’s shoulder. The boy didn’t shrug it off immediately, which Daryl took as a good sign. “It’s okay to be scared sometimes,” He told Carl, his rough voice as soft as he could manage it. “We all are. If this world don’t scare you, then you’re just plain nuts. Like the Governor. Being scared’ll keep you alive.”

Carl shook his head, staring vacantly out into the woods. “I feel like…like I’m just waiting for it to happen again.” He admitted, voice quiet and shaking. “Like, I know it’s gonna happen sooner or later-”

“No.” Daryl interrupted, feeling furious. “Ain’t gonna happen. Most of the people in that church would die before letting that happen.”

“It doesn’t matter. Nowhere is safe. We’ll get caught by somebody else, or maybe one of the new people -”

“You listen to me.” Daryl felt his pulse thrumming dangerously. “There are bad people in this world. And yeah, a lot of the people that have survived are bad, because that’s what kept ‘em alive. But those men that attacked us were a special kind of evil. And _that man…_ he was sick in the head.”

He shoulda seen it. Daryl remembered the days he’d spent traveling with the Claimers. There was something off about them, he knew it. He knew they were bad people, murderers, but then so was he, wasn’t he? Weren’t they all? He felt like the couldn’t judge them for their code, a simple one that helped keep the world in order. You saw it, you claimed it. He just hadn’t thought it would apply to _people_.

He remembered a moment, though, when he’d suspected there was something especially off with Dan. They’d found a cluster of houses and they’d gone through them for supplies. There’d been a children’s bedroom in one of them, clearly shared by a young brother and sister. Dan had spent too long in there, touching everything and even pocketing a couple of knickknacks. At the time, Daryl had thought it disconcerting. But he’d brushed it off. Thought maybe the man had children before and was grieving in an odd way. 

It was a mistake. And that mistake had nearly cost them everything. 

So with these new people, Daryl had been watching them like a hawk. They seemed like decent folk, sure, but Daryl wasn’t about to put Rick’s kids’ safety on the line. Both men had definitely noticed, but were respectful and understanding of his protectiveness and kept their distance.

Carl had equally kept his distance from them, but Daryl thought that was just him being protective of Judith. It hadn’t occurred to them that he might be wary of them for his own safety too.

“Most people are not gonna try to hurt you like that.” Daryl tried to assure him. There was a line between vigilance and absolute paranoia. “Most people won’t even _think_ about hurting you like that, even the bad ones. And I swear to you, if I thought for even half a second that someone was thinking about it, I would break every bone in their body just to be safe.”

“I just…” Carl wrapped his arms around his legs and tucked his chin over them. “I hate feeling like this. I keep feeling like I’m gonna vomit, but we can’t waste the food. And I wanna shower,” He mumbled. “I know it’s stupid, we can’t waste the water either - ”

“It’s not stupid,” Daryl interrupted, feeling like a damn fool. He knew none of them had properly washed since they’d all reunited, and he was willing to bet most of them hadn’t washed since the prison. He certainly hadn’t. Being dirty never bothered him, he was used to it. But that meant Carl had been walking around for days with that fucking animal’s _grime_ on him. “We could all probably do with a wash. There’s gotta be a creek or a river around somewhere, I’ll look for one when I go hunting in a bit.” 

“You don’t need to do that, it’s fine -”

“I’m serious, it ain’t just for you.” Daryl insisted. “It’s starting to stink in there. ‘Specially your old man, he smells like horse shit.” Carl shot him a look, unimpressed by his argument. “Judith really needs a bath too. Babies, you gotta keep ‘em clean otherwise they’ll get sick.”

Carl’s expression softened at the mention of his sister. “Yeah, that’s a good point.”

“You wanna come with me?” Daryl hated bringing anyone along on his hunting trips. He was a loner by nature so being stuck in a small church with fourteen other people wasn’t exactly a picnic for him. Going hunting was his only chance for a bit of peace. But he figured the distraction might do Carl some good.

Surprisingly, Carl shook his head. “Nah, I gotta stay here and look out for Judith. Thanks, though. For offering, and teaching me, and…everything. Thanks.”

Daryl shrugged. “No problem.”

They headed back around to the front of the church. Before they entered, Carl’s hand shot out to stop him. “Hey Daryl?” 

“Yeah?”

“Can you maybe not tell my Dad about…y’know?” Carl gestured evasively. Daryl caught the meaning though. “I just don’t need him worrying, he’s got enough to deal with right now.”

Daryl was pretty sure Rick would be on his deathbed worrying about Carl, but he nodded anyway, and they entered the church.

Near the rectory, Abraham was cleaning his gun, and he looked up when Carl walked by to relieve Maggie of Judith. Daryl moved to sit on the pew that put him directly between Abraham and Carl, glancing at Abraham out of the corner of his eye. Abraham said nothing, but gave a curt nod of acknowledgement.

Someone sat next to him and he knew it was Rick before he even glanced up. “All good?” Rick asked him quietly.

“No,” he admitted.

Rick looked at him with the same pained expression he’d worn the morning after, when they’d sat on the side of the road, Rick’s face drenched in the blood of other men. 

“It will be though,” promised Daryl, squeezing his shoulder lightly. “Just gonna take some time.”

They sat there in silence for a minute, watching Carl feed Judith. Dan’s face flashed in Daryl’s mind and he tried to quell the furious rage that swelled up in him. He forced himself to calm down. They were here, they were relatively safe for the time being, and Dan was roadkill. It didn’t fix anything, didn’t change anything that had happened, but it meant that they had a chance for things to be okay someday.

In the meantime…

“I’m gonna find us some water so we can all wash up.” Daryl informed Rick.

Rick nodded thoughtfully. “Thank god. You smell like horse shit.”

Daryl snorted and checked his friend in the shoulder. 

“Pretty sure you’re talking about yourself, dickhead.”

 


	2. WWGD?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carl was giving him a desperate, pleading look that he hadn't seen in forever, like he thought Daryl was this wise person who had all the answers to everything in life. When really, Daryl was quite possibly the least qualified person in the history of the world to give anyone advice.
> 
> Glenn would've known what to say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daryl's kind of been annoying me in canon recently (I've never actually been a big Daryl fan, I like him a lot but in my opinion he gets an undue amount of fan attention). This is sort of a cathartic exercise for me to stop hating him and remember the things I like about this character (now if only the WRITERS could bring back what we like about this character!!!)
> 
> Also, if you haven't seen the midseason finale, DO NOT read the notes at the end of the story. The rest of the story, however, is totally spoiler free.

"Hey Daryl, can I ask you something?"

Daryl looked up from sorting through ammunition to see that Tara had left, leaving him and Carl alone in the armory for the time being. She was quieter these days, as many of them were, which explained her unnoticeable departure. She couldn't have been gone long, however, meaning Carl must have seized the opportunity to talk to him as soon as she left. Which meant this would not be a fun conversation.

But Daryl had given up the pretense of trying to deny Carl anything a long time ago. He'd amputate his own fucking leg if Carl wanted it (after Carl's injury he had, in fact, quietly asked Denise if eye transplants were a thing. Denise had looked at him with a mixture of incredulity and pity and said no, eye transplants had been considered impossible even  _before_ the turn and then banned him from going anywhere near a scalpel). 

So, he shrugged and muttered "Sure," looking back at his work. It didn't matter, Carl knew that he had Daryl's full attention.

"You know that Enid and I are... together, right?" Carl asked sheepishly.

Daryl couldn't hold back a snort. "Is that supposed to be a secret?" Those two and their puppy love were one of the few positive things people had to gossip about recently. And it sure didn't seem like the teenagers were trying to be subtle about it: it's like they had lost the inability to walk anywhere unless they were holding hands.

"No, I was just checking." Carl huffed, cheeks turning red. It was baffling to Daryl how he could be more mature about some things than most adults he knew, and then a complete child when it came to shit like this. "So, anyway, the other day before all the Hilltop people left, we were alone, and we kinda, uh..."

Jesus christ. Daryl pinched the bridge of his nose, wishing he could be anywhere else right now. "Maybe this is the kinda thing you should be discussing with Rick." He interjected quickly, trying to save himself before he learned things he really did  _not_ want to know about a kid he used to give piggy back rides to. Seriously, why was Carl coming to  _him_ , the most close-mouthed, awkwardest person he knew?

"It's not what you're thinking," Carl defended, his face now entirely maroon. "We didn't, um, you know."

"Kay, good. 'Cause you're too young for that anyway." Daryl winced. He sounded like some stupid sex ed pamphlet and he really, really was not equipped for this conversation. 

Carl gave him a wry look, lifting up the AK-47 he was currently cleaning. "Wouldn't want me to do anything I'm too young for," he deadpanned, quirking his eyebrow.

Daryl reached over and swatted him on the arm. "Don't smart-mouth me," he ordered, trying to hide his amusement. It was funny, he'd spent so much time missing his family, constantly thinking about them and remembering the good times with them. But somehow he'd forgotten what a little  _shit_ Carl could be sometimes.

"So yeah, we didn't have sex, but we kinda almost did." Daryl's face dropped. Oh god. They were back to this. "But we didn't, because, um." Carl made a face, like he was trying to figure something out. "Do you ever really, really want something, and then suddenly the next second it's the last thing you want?"

Daryl stared at Carl, waiting for him to elaborate. "Can you be less specific?" He asked dryly.

Carl rolled his eye. "Have you ever really wanted to have sex but then suddenly you don't?"

"Um..." Daryl tried to figure out how to respond to this, still not sure what Carl was asking exactly. "Just hormones, bud." He replied, trying to be as simple as he could. "Sometimes they hit you strong, then they're gone." He really was the  _last_ person Carl should be asking about this, but he didn't know how to articulate that.

"Okay, but it's not just not really wanting it anymore, it was like the thought of it... it made me feel sick." 

Something clicked in Daryl's brain. "Think it had something to do with that night on the road?" 

Carl shrugged, clearly trying to be casual. "I dunno. Maybe. That's why I was asking, I didn't know if it was normal, or if it's because..."

He shook his head, like a horse trying to shake away a fly, his mouth twitching in that way that Daryl recognized as Carl's tell for when he was trying to pretend everything was fine when his head was probably filled with bad memories. 

Familiar anger churned in Daryl's gut. He hadn't thought about that night for a long time, there'd been so much shit to deal with. For some reason, thinking back on it now, Daryl felt angrier about it than he had in ages. Maybe it was because everything inside him was so raw, that he was so filled with gasoline that the tinniest spark made him instantly combust.

More than the anger, though, Daryl mostly just felt bad for the kid. Because of course that was the thing about going through a shitty situation. The hardest part was usually the shit that stuck with you even years later. 

"There's no normal, kid. You just gotta do whatever you're comfortable with."

With a sigh, Carl looked up at him. "I guess I just don't know what that is. Because I really  _did_ want to, and then I didn't. Then I just felt pissed off."

"Yeah?" Daryl prompted, trying to get him to open up more. And apparently he succeeded, because suddenly the floodgates of teen angst hell opened.

" _Yeah_. It's like, why can't I just have this one good thing? And then it was embarrassing, because I had to convince Enid that it wasn't because I decided I didn't want to because of her, because, y'know, she had her shirt off when -"

Yeah, that was more information that Daryl wanted. "Got it."

"But I don't think she believed me and now I feel bad, and it's kinda a miracle she likes me at all. And that's part of it, because I've already got this thing," his hand jerked almost in disgust toward his bandage, "which is a lot to look past, and if I have another  _thing_ it'll be too much."

Daryl blinked rapidly, trying to absorb all of this. Carl was giving him a desperate, pleading look that he hadn't seen in forever, like he thought Daryl was this wise person who had all the answers to everything in life. When really, Daryl was quite possibly the least qualified person in the history of the world to give anyone advice. But, he knew there was no way Carl would ever go to Rick with this. Maybe once he would have been able to go to Michonne, but now that she'd officially made the transition from "friend" to "parent" that was officially off the table.

 _Glenn would've known what to say_. The thought popped into his head without warning, as such thoughts often did, and made Daryl want to throw up. It was his fault that Carl had lost his other male role model, that he had to settle for Daryl instead of the much wiser and more thoughtful Glenn.

Which meant it was his responsibility. That's what made Daryl decide to tell Carl something he'd only ever told Carol. "You know, I've never wanted sex the way most other people do."

Carl's eyebrow furrowed in surprise. "Really? Why?"

"I dunno," he echoed Carl's earlier statement. "Something just different about me. Sorta like how Aaron and Eric don't want sex with women, or Tara don't want sex with men, 'cept I don't want either. I used to have it before the turn and it was fine. Good, sometimes. But I never really needed it like other people seemed to. Then everything fell apart and it was like this excuse to stop having it."

Carl's eye was huge. "So you haven't since -"

"Nah. Not once. Just isn't something I think about." Daryl took in Carl's incredulous expression with some amusement. "I'm guessing you can't relate."

The boy flushed. "I mean, it isn't  _all_ I think about, but yeah... I think about it a lot."

Daryl clapped him on the shoulder. "Nothing wrong with that. Nothing wrong with not wanting it either. But it sounds like maybe you ain't ready for it yet." Daryl concluded simply, before regarding Carl. "You ever talk to your dad? 'Bout that night?"

Carl shrugged. "A bit," he muttered. "Honestly, I thought I was over it, y'know? I stopped having those weird freak outs -"

"Panic attacks." Daryl corrected, having learned the name for them himself when he swiped a book about surviving childhood abuse on the road.

"Yeah, those. For awhile I didn't like being around guys I didn't know, but I got over it. This is the first problem I've had in a long time."

"Sounds like you've been doing better. I really wouldn't worry about it too much, bud." 

Carl hesitated, still holding out on something. He said something quietly, under his breath, that Daryl didn't quite catch.

"What was that?"

With a sigh, Carl repeated a little louder: "I threw up. After she left, I threw up. I couldn't get it out of my head." He cocked his head in that Rick-esque way of his and asked sarcastically: "Is  _that_ normal?"

"No, but neither is what happened to you." Daryl replied bluntly, and quickly so as to disguise his shock (which he knew Carl would be looking for). "I know this isn't what you want to hear, but you should talk to Enid about it. If she likes you, she'll understand. If not, then she ain't worth your time."

"She is," Carl immediately defended, sounded offended on his girlfriend's behalf.

"Then she'll understand. I'm sure that girl's been through shit too. Talking about it's tough, but that's how we get through it. She won't think less of you."

Carl shook his head. "Maybe eventually," he muttered, picking up a box of ammunition. "I'm gonna run these over to Rosita if that's okay."

"That's fine." Daryl nodded and returned to his own task. The conversation still felt unfinished to him. He probably would've left it alone but...  _What would Glenn do?_

"Hey Carl," he called out, and the kid stopped, halfway out the door. "Next time you need to talk, you don't gotta ask. I'm here."

A brief smile flitted across Carl's face. "Thanks Daryl." 

Then he slipped out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .  
> .  
> .  
>  And that was their last conversation.
> 
> And Carl never did talk with End. 
> 
> Why?
> 
> BECAUSE SCOTT GIMPLE AND AMC ARE EVIL, THAT'S WHY.
> 
>  
> 
> (Btw, the title of the chapter stands for "What Would Glenn Do?")


End file.
